“An uncle in New York is dead, and has left him loads of money. Nobody knows what his real name is, but he's a Hollander. The knife is at my breast. ‘Do not be alarmed, Jacques. How can I tell you all I feel? I love you beyond measure. Nevertheless, she was no fool, and she knew that they could easily break loose and cause her to fall. Ramage!” she cried, and struggled to her feet. I came back to say, that I've placed your nephew in a coach; and, if you'll be at my lock in the Old Bailey an hour after midnight, you shall hear the last tidings of him.
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